Never Again
by caithream
Summary: For the prompt: When they were young, something happened to Sam, and John had to take him to the hospital. They almost lost him, and ever since then Dean's been terrified of the big white building. It hadn't been a problem, until now.


For the prompt on the utterly fabulous hoodietime community on LJ: _When they were young, something happened to Sam (injured, sick, whatever) and John had to take him to the hospital. They almost lost him, and ever since then Dean's been terrified of the big white building. It hadn't been a problem, until now._

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* * *

_

He doesn't remember most of it.

Probably a good thing, considering how much pain he was in. Vague snippets, incomplete memories come back to him every now and again. Sam was in third grade, he knows, eight years old and learning his fractions. He remembers the light in the classroom being way too bright and a headache that just wouldn't go away. He told Ms. Jessup such, and she moved him to the front of the classroom, telling him in that heartwarming firm-but-gentle way of hers to make sure his dad took him to an eye doctor. Sam guesses he never told his dad, because the headaches got worse and he got so bone-achingly tired he could barely make it through the school day. He remembers Dean's worried face and him making Sam take children's Tylenol to make the fever go away because Dad wasn't there to do so. He remembers pain in his neck so bad he was crying, and a weird rash. Ever so vaguely he remembers Dean's frantic voice on the phone, and Sam hoped more than anything that it was Dad who was on the other end.

Then there was a hospital and a lot of words and noises, and then strangers were trying to take him out of Dean's arms, and he cried and screamed and kicked and pleaded, and he hurt so bad all over and he just wanted Dean. He just wanted his brother.

He remembers lots of wires and tests and finally, _finally_ his father. But apparently having him there came at a price, because he vividly remembers the worst of it: a huge needle in his back that made his whole body feel funny and hurt like nothing he could even try to explain.

His dad was behind him, holding Sam's legs with firm, callused hands, and Dean, Dean was hold Sam's hands, his face so pale it didn't hardly have any color at all.

Later, maybe a lot later, Sam wasn't sure, he was half-awake in his hospital bed, and Dean's cold fingers were entwined with his. Dean was whispering, "Never again, Sammy, I promise. Never again," but Sam fell asleep before he could ask his brother what he meant.

* * *

That was seven years ago.

Still, it's somehow just one of the panicked thoughts flying through his brain as he attempts to wrestle Dean into the car. He's positive Dean's got a concussion, even being able to see from the dim light of the streetlamp one pupil being far bigger than the other, and Sam really doesn't like how Dean's holding his left arm close to his body. What's worrying him the most, however, is the substantial rip in Dean's skin just below his knee. None of these would be too much of a problem, except it just had to be an old, rusty nail that Dean fell on.

"Dean, listen to me," Sam tries as he slowly moves Dean's bloody leg into the car. "Do you know when your last tetanus shot was? Shit, Dean—"

All Sam's work in getting him in the car without hurting him and Dean flops over until he's leaning out the door, puking harshly into the dirt. He moans uncontrollably, low and deep, panting through the pain. If not for the gash in Dean's leg, this kind of concussion would probably be enough to warrant a trip to the hospital anyway.

Two more times they stop on the way so Dean can retch miserably on the side of the road. Finally they pull into the hospital entrance. Dean's head lolls as he squints up at the light suddenly around them.

It's all downhill from there.

"No," Dean says, pressing himself into the seat and slipping lower. "No-no-no-no not goin' in there Sam, no."

"Your leg, Dean, you need—"

"You c'n stitch it in the 'partment, it'ssokay—"

"It was a rusty nail, and God-knows how long ago you had a tetanus shot," Sam says as he reaches over Dean to open the passenger door. "It's okay. They're not going to make you stay overnight or anything." But Dean is having none of it, and he squirms and pants, hurting himself even more.

"Don't want to, don't want to," he's moaning as Sam somehow maneuvers him up and out of the Impala towards to sliding doors of the ER. "Sammy, no, _please_."

_It's just the concussion_, Sam tells himself as he grits his teeth and firmly grips Dean's good arm. When they step inside the air conditioned building, Dean goes haywire for a few brief moments, but ends up bent double and dry heaving over the linoleum.

After speaking to the front desk, he somehow gets them both sitting down in the waiting area. Dean is unabashedly leaning against him, eyes squeezed shut as he puffs out short breaths like he's trying and failing to not have a panic attack. It's weirding Sam out in an anxious sort of way, so he lightly sets his palm on Dean's sweaty hair and says, "Hey, man, it's okay. We won't even tell them about your head or your arm. We'll take care of those at the apartment, okay? It'll be fine."

"No," Dean whimpers out. "Don't want to be here, don' leave me here, please."

Before Sam can reply, one of the nurses calls them in. Dean takes one look at her and starts trembling against him.

"It's okay," Sam murmurs. "We're okay."

Dean acts like he doesn't even hear him.

The woman props Dean's leg up to clean out the gash, but he doesn't even notice, just stares catatonically at all the medical equipment surrounding them. It isn't until she pulls out a syringe and a hypodermic needle that Dean reacts, and Sam is more than shocked when he sees tears dripping off his brother's chin.

He isn't sobbing or making hitching breaths, just tears flowing from his red eyes, looking so forlorn and resigned that Sam can't help but sit behind him and put an arm around his stomach, making sure Dean knows Sam's not going anywhere.

It's that sudden nano-second of remembering, and understanding blooms in Sam's mind. Surprisingly, after all these years, this is the first time they've both been in a hospital after Sam's meningitis scare, spinal tap and all. Dean had barely left Sam's side as he recovered at home, not caring that the summer was perfect and hot and the Silvio's next door said they could swim in their pool whenever they wanted. _Never again_, Sam remembers. _Never again_.

Dean couldn't promise that, not in their family's line of work. But he tried.

The needle is already in and out of Dean's thigh, the nurse putting a bandaid with cotton ball on top of the puncture. Sam wipes Dean's chin with the collar of Dean's shirt and says, "See? Already done." And man, if he wasn't so concussed, Dean would probably be beating the shit out of _him_ right now.

There's a little more cleaning of the gash, then two stitches and bandages and instructions on how to change said bandages and how to watch for infection, and it's everything Sam knows and more. Dean's tears finally stop, but he's back to looking catatonic, withdrawing into himself and slumping with tiredness. Sam wants to get him out of here as soon as possible.

Finally they're back outside and back in the Impala, where Dean settles down some. It's quiet until he says in a gravelly voice, "Sorry, Sammy."

Sam makes a disbelieving noise. "What for?" But apparently Dean doesn't have an answer for that, just keeps his eyes closed and his breaths even.

_Never again_, Sam thinks as he parks in front of their apartment. _I'll try to keep that promise as much as you will._


End file.
